When Covers Become Realities
by Stronger-Than-Fear
Summary: Last spring, Zach had left behind Gallagher Academy for his life at Blackthorne. When a twist in his mission occurs, Zach finds himself on the run, protecting Cammie at all costs. Can he hide his double-agent status from a group of terrorists, or will he find himself in hot water? Terrorists, bombings, and attempted kidnappings... All in the life of Zachary Goode.
1. Tell Me Everything You Know

**This is fanfiction, which means I am not Ally Carter. And therefore I do not own the Gallagher Girls. :)**

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The night was silent except for the occasional wolf call. The stars shone brightly above the mountains and the moon was a brilliant crescent. Despite the quietness outside, what was happening in the small shack was something that would be remembered. Several people from around the globe had gathered together for one night. They all sat around a large table, absorbed in their own business. A large Brazilian man was glaring at a woman from New Zealand. She was twirling a knife around her fingers, not even worrying about the sharp blade nearing her knuckles. On the opposite side of the table, a French man was emptying his gun cartridge. Lead bullets scattered over and one traveled across the table in front of a Russian woman. She brushed it away and continued carving into the table with her sharp knife. Next to her, a Syrian man was discussing city bombing strategies with my mother. Where was I during all this fun? I was sitting next to Mr. Muscleman from Brazil, twisting a rubber band around my fingertips.

I was scared out of my wits. Every person in this room had trained for years in the art of murder. I had only gone to a juvenile detention center for about five years. Yet there I was among the elite terrorists of the world. These men and women were deadly. Lethal. And I tried to avoid situations that increased my chances of dying. Sadly, those opportunities seemed to find me.

The door creaked open and the bitter wind fluttered a stack of papers. A slam echoed through the small room as the door was quickly shut and a chubby Cuban man entered. He glanced around the table but his glare rested on me.

He leaned on the table with his hands clenched. His arms were bulbous, too large for his body. The man was too short to be intimidating, but his face made up for his lack of superior height. He had a square face, scarred from his profession and tinged pink from the cold. His nose jutted out and his eyes sunk into his head, which made his furrowed eyebrows seem even angrier. His lips tightened into a sneer and spat out, "Who the hell are you?"

"Roberto, this is my informant. My son: Zachary. He's with us." The rest of the table looked to me, expecting a response. I merely let go of my rubber band with a _snap_ and leaned back in my chair. My heart rate was spiking and I struggled to keep my eyes impassive.

As realization dawned on him, his sneer was quickly replaced with a sinister smile. The folder was pushed forward until in rested in front of me. Papers peeked out the side, and I knew what was coming next. But it didn't make it any easier. "Ah, the girl's friend. So, young man, why don't you tell me everything you know about Cameron Morgan." He turned the cover and I saw a blown-up picture of Cammie. My heart sunk to my feet. I looked back to the man, and he was smirking. Preparing myself for whatever he had planned, I evened my breathing. He was a trained killer. Trained killers are trained liars. Liars can spot liars. I was as good as dead.

I took a deep breath and plastered my signature smirk across my face, disguising the fear pulsing through my veins. "She's good. She doesn't share all her best intel, like you expect her to." The picture stared up at me, her eyes sparkling with silent laughter. The only smile to be found in this room was on Cammie's face, frozen in the photo. Cammie. The last time I had seen her was the spring semester, right after I kissed her. My entire summer was spent at school, and Cammie ahd became a small part of my life. But I didn't need the picture in front of me to remember every little detail about her. So instead of looking at the photograph, I focused on the impatient man in front of me. "Her dad died when she was in sixth grade. She likes secret passageways." He leaned closer, becoming more irritated. He wasn't getting what he wanted, and he wasn't happy about that. I kept blabbing, trying to correct my missteps, but I kept fumbling. I said, "Honestly, the Circle has told me more about her than Cammie has given away. Trust me; you guys know more than you think." I turned to see plenty of raised eyebrows and angry glares.

Whatever he wanted to know, that was not it. He shook his head and snarled. "I'll tell you this, Zachary," he made my name seem like an insult. The man got right up in my face, breathing heavily. His breath smelled like smoke and it burned my nostrils. "We need whatever is up in her pretty little head, whether she lives through it or not. Whatever you're doing: it's the easy way. And if you're going to continue to treat this like a game, we'll take measures into our own hands. I will personally bring out the guns and knives. Do you know how she acts under pressure?" His angry stare became sadistic. His next words were calm, but full of serious conviction. "Believe me; I am _not_ above torturing teenagers." I think that sentence wouldn't be any more frightening if he shouted it while pressing a pistol to my forehead. He backed away from me, satisfied by his imposing harangue. I felt everyone's eyes on me, and you probably could have heard a pin drop in the room.

Until the woman from New Zealand chuckled. "And it'd be a shame if her '_pretty little head'_ got messed up. Don't you think, Zachary?" Needless to say, her laughter was not happy. It was laced with contempt and hatred. More laughter bubbled up, and Roberto turned to glare at the woman. As her laughter faded out into a cynical chuckle, she said, "Oh, Roberto, do you not know? Zachary was the one who kissed Miss Cameron last spring." Her knife swiveled around her fingers once more before it was jammed into the table as she stopped laughing to scowl in my direction. I think I might've jumped. The Circle had seen me kiss Cammie. What else did they see from Gallagher? And how?

The terrorists looked around, clearly not satisfied with my actions. This was not going where I wanted it to. But if I tried, I could twist it in my favor. So I let out a laugh and all their attention returned to me. "Oh, please. I'm just playing the boyfriend. If I do it well, she'll eventually spill it all. It's only a matter of time before she's wrapped around my little finger." I smirked, covering up how nervous I was becoming. Stopping myself for wringing my rubber band, I continued on, "Cameron won't just hand out information. She's too good for that. Or do you not know?" Clearly, mocking the woman was not a good idea, because she stood from her seat and reached for her knife. I stood and leaned forward on the table. Sitting wasn't a good vantage point when in a room of killers. I looked around then rested my gaze on the woman who had wrenched her blade from the table. "When I get the information, we'll all be happy and can go our separate ways." She held her knife tightly, but showed no sign of using it anytime soon. Instead, she sent mental daggers my way. The air in the room was getting thick, and moods were worsening for most. But not all.

The man beside me slapped a meaty hand on my back. "Just like his mother." He turned to the woman beside him and said, "Aren't you proud?" He gave a hearty chuckle but it was far less frightening than the woman still glaring at me. The others joined in on his laughter, and I quickly became confused.

The other man beside my mother put a hand on her shoulder. "Yes. It's seems as if only yesterday you had that man head over heels. He was smitten. You got what you wanted then headed for the hills. Excellent work. And it seems Zachary is following in your footsteps. Romance in exchange for information. A classic." They all started to laugh again, sharing a memory. A cruel one. My mother had honeypotted my father, making him fall for her. She needed to get in his head. When she did, he had vanished. But somewhere along the lines, I had shown up. My mother was a heartless woman. How could she rip a father from his son? Because of the Circle, I didn't have my dad. I was as good as alone.

All it did was make me realize how much more important my mission was. I needed to break the Circle. Get their trust and wreck them from the inside out. Fool them. I joined in their laughter, but with much less enthusiasm. "That's right. I learned from the best." We chuckled together until it died out. Roberto patted me on the back.

"Good boy." I felt like a dog being trained to bite children. He still had his sadistic grin on his face, but I assumed it was his natural expression. "I say Zachary has this all under control." He squeezed my shoulder until it began to throb lightly. Pushing down, his force making me bend ever so slightly to relieve the pressure. "He won't screw it up. Will you?" With the grip on my shoulder and his glare, I got the message. Mess up and I'd have a bullet through my skull. I sat down, and instantly the iron hold on my shoulder was gone. Roberto turned to the man, "Luc, the maps."

The French man had rounded up all the scattered bullets and had swapped his gun for a thick folder. "Azerbaijan. We are in charge of demolishing a bridge." A copy of each map, painstakingly labeled with coordinates and times, was passed to each of us. The only thing I saw was one more thing that was going to be ruined. As always.

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When we had finished, I realized that I had wrung the rubber band to the point where red lines ran along my wrist. I rubbed the circulation back into the only sign of my nerves. After a few seconds of trying to erase the proof, I gave up and pulled my sleeves down to my fingertips. It also helped the cold. My breath swirled around me in a haze, the cold mountain air sending goose bumps down my arms.

"Cold, isn't it? But not as bad as school, huh?" My mother came up behind me. Her hands were in her pockets, and she was looking past the mountains and the trees, somewhere distant. I stared north, where, a few miles away, my school was asleep. I shrugged. "I'm proud of you, you know?" I shrugged again. Of course she would be proud. I joined her terrorist organization, didn't I? "Almahdi is impressed. He wasn't quite so sure about how you would handle being here, so young and all. He's an old friend of mine, and I'm glad that he thinks you'll be of help."

"I'm gonna need to head back to school. If I miss any more classes, then I might be kicked out." I said. But they wouldn't "kick me out." They wouldn't kick anyone out. If something went wrong, they'd just be killed. After all, it is a school for assassins. We've learned too much to just walk away.

My mother gave a light giggle, as if this was a normal situation. She leaned in to kiss my cheek. I had almost turned away, but she would've been offended, seeing as she doesn't know that I hate her. She patted my cheek twice and added the strangest accompanying sentence: "Go kick some ass for Mommy."

"Of course." I pulled my hood to cover my ears, and started down the hill. Two miles through the mountain wouldn't be difficult. I'd just have to make sure my classmates weren't having midnight sniper practice.

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**Hi! For the observant ones out there, you must've realized that this is my sequel to Just a Day in DC! But, new readers: you don't have to read DC, because this'll just be DJGBHC in Zach's PoV with extra scenes to fill in for the lack of goode-ness. ;) A few things that were tweaked ever so slightly in the previous story: I started DC **_**before **_**United We Spy came out, so I said Catherine killed Zach's dad… I'll have to twist that back to normal eventually, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there. Also, Zach is a double agent working with Solomon trying to break down the Circle of Cavan. Yeah. Once again, you can read this one without reading DC, mainly because that one starts off weirdly and it's not very consistent with the amount of humor and the mood and whatnot… If I changed anything in the DC and forgot to mention it, feel free to PM me or put it in a review and I'll try to explain. (I didn't change much, though.)**

**So, I'd like some feedback on what I have done thus far. I'm happy with what I had done so far and I hope you are too! For those who weren't with me for DC: I respond to every favorite, follow, and review! I'm gonna try to keep up with shout-outs this time around, but I'm a blonde, and I think we all know how it could turn out. XD So… Could you drop a review and make my day? What you liked, what I could improve one, or anything else...?**

**I actually posted this earlier than I expected to. It was gonna be up later in the week or maybe next week, but Just a Day in DC hit 10,000 views a few days ago. :) So, I posted this to celebrate and to thank everyone for all the support!**


	2. A Cut-Out

**If I were a best-selling author, why would I spend time on fanfiction…? The Gallagher Girls belong to someone who actually has a life (the wondrous Ally Carter) and this fic belongs to someone who doesn't (cough-me-cough).**

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I had scaled the mountains, arriving from the eastern passes. It was the easiest way to approach the school. There were plenty of more covert ways to get to Blackthorne, but what I needed was speed. Thirty minutes were spent hiking through the highlands before I had gotten close to the school. After finally escaping the mountains, I was on Blackthorne property.

No guards were patrolling the grounds, so I easily sprinted across the grass and around the main part of the school. Behind the larger building were the dorms. But we all called them the "barracks". Twenty rooms in each barrack. Six cots in each room. Three dressers. One closet. All clothes folded with creases, all trash in the bin. No messes were to be made, no traces to be left. Rules regarding cleanliness were king here. Attendance rules were not quite as enforced, but there were strict punishments if caught. They only care if you mess it up. They've "trained you to do better."

So I hurried, creeping along the brick walls of the living quarters. Counting three windows from the west wing, I remained aware, should any students or teachers be lurking about like I was. Tugging on the window, it finally gave way and opened soundlessly. I pressed my sneakers against the bricks and hoisted my waist over the edge. My body was pulled through the window and I tumbled into the room. When I hit the ground, a soft thud echoed off the walls and I winced. I should've landed better, as to not wake my roommates. But it didn't matter: they were still awake. "Well, good morning sunshine. Enjoying the weather?"

Grant was sitting on the bed opposite the window, tinkering with a handgun. The pistol was being disassembled, each piece set onto his pillow. He leaned against the wall, not even meeting my eye. Jonas's bed was on the far side of the room, right next to the door. He was fast asleep and his snoring filled the room. Bright light from his computer illuminated his contorted expression. The three other boys in our room hardly gave me a second glance. Harry was reading a German copy of The Art of War, Ethan was in the same state as Jonas (out cold and snoring like a bear) and Jay was on the floor doing curl ups.

Finally Grant looked at me. "1:02 is little late, don't you think?" Harry closed his book as Grant continued talking and disassembling the weapon at the same time. "I'm done covering for you. You can catch up on all your classes and assignments without me. Next time you're gone, I'm not saying your name in roll call." He had all the parts to the gun evenly spaced on his pillow. He looked down to them and picked up the main part. Within the next few seconds, he had clicked all the pieces together and had snapped the magazine into place. "Artillery and Ammunitions Final is tomorrow. We have to do it blindfolded, too."

He tossed the gun to Harry, who caught it with ease. The pistol was placed under his thin mattress. "Close the goddamn window already. I'm freezing my ass off." I turned and pulled it shut, effectively stopping the draft.

"So what else happened today?" I slipped off my jacket and pushed my shoes under my bed.

"Other than the fact that you missed _yet another_ sparring tournament: nothing." Jay stood and stretched. "I won, in case you were wondering. Grant had a sock to the jaw in round one from Dominic and was out cold. Hilarious." He snorted, as if it wasn't _hilarious _at all. He fell back onto his cot and tucked his toes under the footboard. "Grant wanted to make sure you weren't ditching again. But now I can sleep." Jay pulled his pillow over his head and turned onto one side.

"I'm done for tonight, too." Harry's book was put away and he had curled under his covers. "Turn off the light, Zach." Grant glared at me. _Later, _I mouthed. I reached for the switch by the door, closing Jonas's laptop on my way. Within seconds I was shrouded in darkness.

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I'll tell you the absolute worst thing about living in a detention facility: the wake up calls. At precisely 5:45 am, a trumpet blared over the speakers located in each room. After that, we have forty minutes to shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and get to our first classes. So as soon as I heard the four obnoxious notes, I shot out of bed and reached for the nearest dresser. I pulled out the hideous yellow pants and matching shirt. I put on the pants and slipped the shirt over my white t-shirt, not bothering with the buttons. Slipping out the door, I saw the rest of the guys heading towards the bathrooms. I pressed my nose to my shoulder. _I could do without for today._

Following the small crowd of boys out of the doors toward the mess hall, Grant had caught up to me. "Actually going to class, today?"

"Yeah. I'd hate to miss that exam in A&A." I rolled my eyes. Exams in that class were always the same. Can you hit a target at 100 yards? 200? How about 500? Oh, now we're taking your scope. Put together this pistol. Now do it blindfolded. This rifle? Easy. The real challenge was when Mr. Marshalls made half the class run and the other half shoot at targets on the track.

"You might be behind in CoveOps." Grant hesitated, "Or maybe not, Mr. Already-Recruited-And-Sent-On-Missions." He shoved ahead of me as we entered the mess hall. He took a tray from the kitchen's serving window and piled it high with waffles. I helped myself to several of the dark grainy waffles. Not the most pleasant meal, but they were about as good as it got here. Cammie would be disappointed.

As stupid and mushy as it sounded, I missed her. I missed her a lot. Her shy smile, her snarky comebacks, and even her calling me "Blackthorne Boy". I missed having someone next to me that didn't see a murderer. That'd be nice.

It was too bad that the Circle of Cavan was out to get her.

I had a haunting feeling that only a few things would be going through my mind in the near future: Cammie and Cavan. Cammie's safety and the Circle's plans.

Sadly, I could do nothing about either as of now. So I choked down the pathetic excuse for waffles and headed to my first class of the day: CoveOps.

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"Gentlemen, today's lesson will be quite simple. What is a cut-out?" Mr. Hale called out from his desk. His feet were propped up and he was leaning backwards, tipping his chair. He was reminiscent of Mr. Solomon, but a deadlier version, if that was possible. One major difference was what they fought for: Solomon was on the right team, and Hale was the opposition. The not-so-nice team. Mr. Hale scanned the class with his conniving gaze, until it fell on me. "Goode, I haven't seen you in a while. Cut-out. Define it and tell me the pros and cons."

Of course Grant couldn't fool the all-incredible Lawrence Hale. My CoveOps instructor was well aware of my absence, but didn't care. Grant may have duped the others (most likely not), but nothing slipped past Mr. Hale. Nothing. "A cut-out is used to deliver items or information securely. Or, it's an agent who acts as an in-between for other agents. It makes it easier to relay information without serious danger and it keeps permanent locations unknown to different parties."

"And the cons?" Mr. Hale pulled his feet off the desk and shuffled beneath his desk. While doing so, I continued. "Problems could occur on either side before the meeting or drop-off. Too many people, too many opportunities to be caught. Backstabbing. Traitors. Misinformation."

He nodded. He already knew that, and so did we. So that means there's a catch to today's lesson. The cardboard box he pulled from under his desk proved my theory. Mr. Hale shook it like it was a Christmas present, and smirked devilishly. A small metal sphere was pulled out, and he tossed it into the air. When he caught it, he looked to his awaiting students.

A grenade. "You boys will need to drop some things off for me. I have a cut-out in the eastern forest, waiting for these. Also, I'm gonna need some information." Mr. Hale tossed the grenade to Jonas in the front row. Flinching, my friend caught it and gave a scrutinizing stare. He set it onto his desk and pushed it into the corner, away from him. Jonas was much more of an "I'll sit over here" kind of guy. Weapons weren't his thing. Mr. Hale chuckled. "Merely smoke grenades. But I wouldn't recommend pulling the pin." He continued tossing the weapons around. When I caught mine, I felt the cool, bumpy metal in my palm. It was painted green, but the paint was chipping. I turned it over in my hands, and the fact that they weren't the real thing hardly calmed my nerves. "Each of you is to deliver one. The first to my cut-out will retrieve information and report to me. Extra jobs to those who don't drop off the cargo and extra laps around the track for the boys who don't get there fast enough for my info. Got it?" We all nodded and pocketed the small items and looked to the teacher for more instructions. "What are you waiting for? Go!"

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I walked through the same woods that I had been in just hours before. Even though I knew every tree root and rock by heart, it was good to know that I could see them. I had a serious advantage over the other guys, because I knew where to find the only definite location within the East woods that could accompany a cut-out. The cabin from last night.

Wanting to get this over with, I jogged around the thick trunks and headed directly toward the shack. I was careful not to jostle the small grenade. Pulling the pin would end in a fiasco, regardless of their state of realness. Tightly holding onto it, I made sure it wouldn't drop. I could've put in my pocket, but it falling out and vanishing wouldn't help either. After a few minutes of running, I saw the small wooden structure.

I sprinted up the hill and peeked into the window. Examining the room in the light, I noticed no danger. Mr. Hale was known for having surprises in the middle of exercises, so precaution was required. With a _creak_, the door slowly opened and I looked around the small room. _Did I get the location wrong?_

"Zachary! What a surprise!" A man from last night placed a hand on my shoulder and I twisted around in alarm. I backed away as he started to laugh. "Do you not remember me?" I shook my head. I was too nervous to retain names last night. "Almahdi. Almahdi Rahamin. I'm your mother's friend from way back." He held out his hand and I hesitantly shook it. My left hand was hidden behind my back, squeezing the metal object, making my palms go clammy.

I turned it over, feeling it roll. Almahdi let go of my hand and leaned onto the table. "So, is it safe to assume you're the cut-out?"

"Whaddya got for me?" Rubbing his hands together with a cheeky grin that should only be seen on a toddler, he looked at me expectantly. I extended my arm reluctantly, allowing him to take the small grenade. Throwing it upward and catching it like Mr. Hale did, it he said, "Only one? Hale promised more."

"The others have them. Aren't you the cut-out?" I pushed back my doubt from becoming obvious. If he wasn't the one who was supposed to obtain them, then I was in trouble. He shrugged as I watched him place it into a metal box and turn back to me.

"Not really. Lawrence promised me twenty-four military-grade, steel, time-delay grenades. I thought I would get them all at once instead of turning it into homework." He made a _tsking _sound as he looked over my shoulder, presumably out the window, searching for the other guys. And the rest of his grenades.

"But they're just smoke grenades."

A small laugh escaped his lips, and I thought that he was overly happy about all the wrong things. "No. They're not." He raised an eyebrow at me. "If you're so confident in whatever Lawrence told you, I invite you to pull the pin." I looked to the metal box that had been clamped shut.

"No thanks." He chuckled lightly. Such a cheery man in a dreary profession. "Am I allowed to ask what they're for?"

He smirked. "Curious, are you?" He shook his head in disbelief. "If you had listened last night, then you would've known that they're for Azerbaijan. We're aiming for the twenty-first. I would invite you, but I don't think you're quite ready for something of that magnitude just yet." He stopped to ponder something. He scratched his chin, thinking. "It's not approved, but do you want to come down to Boston tomorrow? We're doing something minor, and it'll help you out. In fact, your mission might be over with by the time the sun goes down tomorrow. What do you say?"

I stared at him. _My mission would be done? _"Um, no thanks. I've missed a lot of classes as it is…"

"Academics. Prioritizing is important. Oh well, you'd be observing anyhow. Your loss." He looked over his shoulder as the door banged open. There stood a very winded Jay.

"Damn it! I wanted to be first!"

I turned to Almahdi. "Tell Lawrence it's the twenty-first." I nodded and left, socking Jay's shoulder as I passed him. As I stepped outside into the cool breeze, I thought about his words. _My mission would be finished._ That just screams trouble. I don't know what Mr. Hale had in store for us tomorrow, but I had bigger plans: Boston.

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**I'm sorry for having the story start off slowly… It'll pick up soon ;) So, random notes about this chapter: The roomates' names were originally Harry, Louis, and Liam. Unintentionally One Direction. I had a random name generator create Zach's teacher's name. Lawrence Hale popped up, and I was excited. He's **_**not **_**related to the Hales in Heist Society, so don't get confused. :) Also, according to Google, Almahdi's name means "rightly guided" and "mercy, compassion". I love irony. :)**

**A big thanks to these fantabulous people:**

**Smirk and Walk Away (who can't seem to decide on a pen-name ;) , cheeky-monkey-hehehe, XxCandyygirlxX, Wendy Peirce, LoveZammie4Ever, GallagherGirls13BYE, and Sophia (guest).**

**To Sophia… and everyone else too: I have this story planned out. (Mostly) My outline for this story is currently 1,300 words. So I do believe I have a grasp on what this story's gonna be. ;) But I appreciate you taking the time to review! That sounds like an interesting scene, but not for here. Also, I'm trying to stay as canon as possible… this being Zach's side of the story and all… But thanks anyway!**

**So, rambly A/N again.., Sorry! Leave a review and tell me what you think!**

**FYI, updates will be fairly irregular until I have more written. But I'm still online a lot, so don't be shy!**


	3. Zach's the Name and Spying's the Game

**Geez. What am I supposed to say? Well, first of all, I am overwhelmed with the response this has gotten so far. The reviews are truly amazing (the reviewers are even more so!) and it's gotten a lot of attention. After I hadn't updated for a few weeks, I was still getting a lot of alerts. Even for my older stories… So I would like to thank each and every one of you for reading and supporting me so far!**

_**Especially**_** the following:**

**Bubzchoc, xXCandyygirlxX, Wendy Pierce, Smirk and Walk Away, LoveZammie4Ever, Marsi321, Guest, and Irish Gallagher Girl. (The latter also took the time to read over this beforehand and help fix a few things. :) Thanks again!)**

**I haven't morphed into Ally Carter in the past couple weeks, so the rights are still out of my possession.**

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My thoughts swirled around Boston. How was I going to get there? What would I do when I got there? Exactly where in Boston was I going? How much would I need? I had only hoped to be gone for today and show up later tonight, but anything could go wrong. Absolutely anything. What I had stuffed into my backpack so far was a plain white shirt, a pair of jeans, and a small wad of cash. Looking it over, I realized I had no clue what might happen, or what my plan was. The only thing I knew was that the Circle had business in Boston, today. The navy sky was scattered with bright stars. Every minute went by was another minute closer to trouble. The sky's fading hues reminded me that I was running out of time. Fast.

Shouldering the pack, I stepped onto my bed. It creaked under my weight and I winced. Grant rolled over and opened an eye. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" As he sat up, I pushed the window pane open, bringing in the cool morning air. He swiftly swung his legs off the bed and stood. Grant stepped up onto my mattress and slammed the window. I was surprised none of the others woke up. Grant was going to scold me for trying to leave again. Bu unlike my endeavors before, this trip had a purpose, whatever it was.

"Where. Are. You. Going?" Emphasizing each word, he stared at me, nearly burning a hole through my head.

"South?" He shook his head. "Massachusetts."

"Zach," He growled.

"Boston. Why the hell does it matter to you where I'm going?"

"Because half of the time you come home with a new black eye or bloody knuckles." I snorted when he called this place home. It was far from that. A prison, if you may. Grant took my noise the wrong way, immediately snapping into his defensive mode. "We've been like brothers for who-knows-how-long and never kept secrets. And now you're sneaking around more than usual. You're hiding something. Keeping secrets. Families don't keep secrets from each other." Without voicing my thinking, I thought of every single lie my mother told me. And the list kept scrolling by in my mind as Grant watched me intently. As far as I knew, families were built on lies.

"Grant, I really need to go." I gestured out to the mountains, to the outside. Away from school.

"Bullshit. What's so important in Massachusetts?" I shook my head and opened my mouth, but Grant cut me off before I started. "Won't tell me? You don't trust me? Well, buddy, that's a two-way street." He gave a snort of indignation. "That's right. I don't trust you anymore. Maybe I never did. So, go on, tell me I'm wrong for feeling this way." After a second of my shocked silence because of his outburst, he shoved open the window and took my backpack. It landed on the grass below with a thud. "Actually, I don't give a shit! Go! One day, you're going to find yourself alone, with no one at your side, and I'll be long gone. Everyone will be." With every word he spoke, every point he made, I felt worse and worse. Because it was all true. I wasn't the most trustworthy person ever, lying at every turn. And I didn't hand out my trust to anyone. Somehow, I thought that Grant and I had an understanding. A need-to-know basis. But I was wrong.

He stepped to the ground as I lifted my leg over the window sill. "Zach," I turned, expecting more scolding. "Am I wrong?" His threatening glare didn't seem as mad anymore, more defeated than anything. Let down. Disappointed. The closest person I had to family didn't even trust me. I looked to the sleeping guys in their beds and then out to the woods and the shining stars. Grant and I locked eyes in a silent stare down. _Is he wrong? Am I so messed up even my best friend has given up trusting me?_ My lips stayed sealed, because anything I could have said would've made him even angrier. _Maybe he's right_. Breaking his stare, I ducked under the wooden frame and dropped to the ground. I heard him mutter, "So much for brothers." And the window was slammed shut.

I picked up my bag and dusted it off. I didn't know how to feel. I was upset because Grant was family to me. A friend in this hellhole was hard to come by. But a part of me was mad at _myself_ for being upset. As spies, _assassins_, friends were not part of our life, and I should've expected this relationship to blow up eventually. All feelings aside, I needed to leave. Now.

•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•

Before going on my way, I stopped in the storage building. Its concrete walls loomed over tiled floors. Shelves lined the walls in between the various rooms. I stalked through the building, reading each door's label. Eventually, I found one labeled _COVERS AND ALIASES_. I turned the knob and pushed to door open to reveal a large room only lit by the small windows on the far west wall. I quickly walked down the wall, grabbing a wig or two, a pack of contacts, a mustache (or eyebrows?) and face markers. Without sufficient light, I hoped my cover would work well enough, should I need it. As I shoved the supplies into my bag and stepped out of the door, I heard a bang from down the hall.

Someone else was taking a morning stroll. I took the noise as a cue to bolt. Sprinting out the front doors and across the grounds, I dodged the search beams. I made a mad dash for the trees and disappeared into the foliage once again.

Branches snagged at my pants as I ran down the hills. Mud splattered up and smeared the hem of my jeans. The leaves on the oaks brushed my face. But amidst the nature, one thing was certain. The silence was deafening. All the creatures seemed to stay hushed. The only noises were my muffled footsteps, occasionally crunching on piles of leaves. I treaded carefully until I reached the tall wire fences. Stepping carefully, I ascended the tall barriers and swung my leg over, weary of the barbs at the top. A few scrapes onto my jeans, but otherwise unharmed, I dropped to the ground. After another few minutes hiking through the trees, I was at the end of Blackthorne property. I looked to the road leading from the front gates and stopped. Should I face the mountains again or walk in plain sight? Glancing around and checking the watchtowers' patterns, I decided that it'd be easier to go down the road. Hopefully.

The rough pavement was wearing my sneakers even further, but the hike through the mountains would've done worse. So I continued kicking the little pebble I had found further down the road. Every once in a while, I would look down the street, checking for cars or helicopters. Who knew if Blackthorne would eventually react to one of its students vanishing?

I followed the road for almost ten miles. A real spy wouldn't have been so direct, but at four in the morning in The Middle of Nowhere, Maine, who was really going to see me?

Eventually, I came to the sleepy town of Belmont. Belmont was, well… asleep. No cars drove along the roads and lights were off in all buildings. I was alone as I walked down the sidewalks in the residential part of town. That's where I needed to look. The business district would end up fruitless, so I turned to the streets lined with the friendly looking homes. Houses of all shapes and sizes, some with paint chipping, some with gleaming cars in their driveways. Frankly, I didn't care about the houses themselves, just the cars. Eventually, I found one that met my criteria.

The keys were on the dashboard of the car. Fair game.

A little Toyota was my prize. I hopped in and started the engine. It sputtered before roaring to life. I pulled onto the street and down the road.

•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•

After swapping my car for a shiny red Honda at a gas station halfway through the trip, I had finally arrived in the busy town of Boston. Cars and people alike bustled through the streets. Well, actually, it wasn't going too fast. The traffic was dead awful, and I finally decided that it wasn't worth sitting in a stolen car for who knows how long just to miss out on who knows what.

Why exactly was I here again?

I had come all the way to Boston on the fact that _something_ was going to happen. Brilliant. I had no plan, no locations, no times, and no idea. None. But as soon as I got far enough downtown, I realized why it was so crowded. Crazy people were kissing babies and promising change whilst bribing people so they could have better numbers, thus keeping them in charge of other people's money. To put into simpler terms: politics.

Red, white, and blue banners lined the streets as people were holding bright posters and cheering at passing cars. "Winters for Change!" One proclaimed. "America needs Winters!" A sign boasted: "Winters and McHenry: A Team for Change!" Wait- McHenry? I scanned the side of the road for the sign again, waiting for the traffic to inch forward some more. "Winters - McHenry - America" There it was again. McHenry- as in _Macey McHenry_? As the men and the women along the side of the road continued to cheer and wave at the traffic, I was faced with a revelation: The Circle was after Macey McHenry, America's sweetheart.

I leaned back in my seat to process the new information. As my brain prodded through any files on why they'd need Macey, the man behind me leaned on his horn and blasted me out of my thoughts. I startled and pressed on the gas. All the colors suddenly made sense. It was nearing the presidential election, and Macey had become a target because of her father's status. But how did that relate to my mission?

Allowing the angry Bostonian to move up a space in traffic, I pulled off the street and into a large parking ramp for some office building. I parked my (stolen) car on the third level and jogged down the stairs to the concrete sidewalk outside. I was immediately overwhelmed with the stream of people pushing in either direction, but I was also extremely thankful. Pavement artists needed camouflage. Speaking of which, my backpack weighed down my shoulders, telling me that I might want to start blending in.

The crazy people lining the streets were dressed formally, representing themselves as businessmen and women. I strode down the street, watching them continue campaigning. My shoulders bumped into passerby every once in a while, taunting me. My fingers twitched at my side and around my backpack strap. After a final bump, nearly tripping me, my inbred nature took over as I reached into the man's pocket. I withdrew several bills from the leather wallet but neglected the credit cards. Dropping it to the side walk and pocketing the cash, I inwardly cringed at my awful upbringing and habits. But, hey- odds are, I'm gonna need to buy something, right?

I hoped it'd be nothing expensive. The civilians were dressed sharply, and I assumed that the Circle would be wherever the highest concentration of rich political players happened to be. Blending in would require something of higher stature than my faded jeans and white t-shirt.

Finally, I noticed what all the commotion was leading up to. It was a hotel decked up in red, white, and blue, ready for any presidential candidate that was thrown its way. But I knew I had virtually no chance of getting in. Men in black suits and sunglasses, most likely with guns under their jackets, guarded the front door with clipboards and looks that could kill. The hotel stretched into the sky, dwarfing the bystanders yet managing to remain the smallest building in the vicinity. Its light brick walls, stucco trim, and gold accents made it regal and elegant and imperial and absolutely out of my norm. But what is in my norm, you might ask? Well, my "normal" consists of conning my way into buildings like these.

I realized that I had been somewhat gawking at the looming building before me when an agent whispered into his collar, looking in my direction. Standing out and getting busted before my ploy had begun wouldn't do me any good. So I backtracked through the pulsating crowd, down the sidewalk, and around the block. The backstreets was just as crowded, if not more so. But one thing was different: a side door was open. Too easy. A large white van's back doors were open and members of the hotel staff were hauling folding tables through the entrance. I crouched behind the van, waiting for the single security guard to turn. When he did, I jumped out and grabbed a corner of the white plastic and helped lug it into the building. The other heavy-lifter didn't bat an eye at me as I looked around the storage room. He merely walked back out and left me in the room by myself.

Considering the potential president may be in this building, security was rather lax. But I certainly wasn't complaining. I merely hooked the straps of my backpack over my shoulders and pushed out the door that led to the rest of the building. After following the carpeted hallway down a spell, I found myself in the large lobby.

Everybody in that room looked tired, yet all were bouncing around, hyped up on whatever energy supplement they had access to. I felt so out of place. I felt naked, exposed. My disguise was on my back, and I had nothing planned. I was regretting even bothering to show up, but I was too far to back out now.

But, first thing's first: Disguise.

The campaigners' weeks have been long, travelling from place to place. They were tired, overwhelmed, and unfocused. Unsuspecting. Especially one man who was dozing away on a plush lobby chair, probably awaiting check-in, with his suitcase beside him.

After a stroll down the lobby, careful not to be trampled by eager campaigners, the faking of untied shoelaces, and a well-timed dash to the nearest restroom, I was in possession of my disguise. Hopefully.

The man I had taken the baggage from was a smaller man, closer to my size. Sixteen years left a lot to grow, but I was a bit bulkier than the average teenage boy, due to my military-like training. Opening the case, I was glad that he did have a good wardrobe. A pressed Italian shirt (though a bit rumpled, it would suffice) and black trousers were deposited onto the small expanse of counter I had access to. Further exploration provided a pair of shoes, socks, a belt, and a bow tie. There was a lot more (cigarettes, money, papers about some voting patterns or something like that, and some gum) but I just needed the clothes. Within a few minutes, I was dressed to impress. I was surprised to see that the clothes fit rather well. I guess I filled out in the past few months.

I unzipped my backpack to pull out the disguise I had snatched from Blackthorne's storage. A wild wig of white hair, matching eyebrows. A mustache. Happy to have matching features, I pressed them to my face with the glue that hurt like hell when trying to get rid of it. I was transformed within minutes.

The mirror showed an older man with hair that wouldn't lie flat (even after several attempts), a mustache that Mario would be jealous of, and dark brown contacts.

The contacts were my favorite, hiding the one physical connection to my mother. I resented my green eyes. I resented my mother.

I blame her for what I'm doing. She's the reason I'm doing what I'm doing. Spying.

I frowned as I took one last glance in the mirror. I straightened the bow tie and wiped my face of unnecessary emotion. After all, Zach's the name and spying's the game. And I am determined to win.

I stuffed my backpack into the garbage bin, wishing it a silent goodbye. The remnants of my belongings were in the man's, well _my_, suitcase. I exited the bathroom and strode across the foyer. The people swarmed around, and no one stuck out to me. I was in disguise, but still had no clue what I was doing. I walked around the hotel's main room, listening in on some very interesting conversations from some very sleep deprived people. Some were boring and filled with political talk, some were much more interesting.

"Hey, Tony, remember the Mexican restaurant where we stopped and there was no toilet paper in the bathroom, so you went to the ladies' and…" You get the idea. Fascinating material there.

I had swiped a blazer from the back of a chair in the lobby and was almost relieved of the powerful air conditioning. Walking with an awkward gait to match my appearance, I realized I'd get nowhere without proper identification, seeing as security were at every turn.

Looking around, I thought of the easiest and most painless situation. The flowing crowd in the lobby started bumping into me as I slowed to a near snail-pace.

"Excuse me," an arm brushed mine.

"Pardon," a woman said from a bit closer.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I plummeted to the ground, brushing my hand over the man's chest. My knees landed on the carpet. As a few people struggled to help me up, I brushed them off and got up by myself. They all asked me if I was okay, and I responded quickly. Marching away from the scene of the crime, I turned over the stranger's nametag in my hand.

_Dr. Daniel Thompson. PhD_. Wow, a PhD? Let's just hope this man wasn't smart enough to realize his tag was stolen. I pinned it to my chest, ready to explore the rest of the hotel in search of the Circle, assuming they were here. After taking three steps, I froze.

In the heat of the crowd, three men were walking in perfect formation, guarding some girl. It was a blonde girl.

This girl was supposed to be in school.

This girl was in danger.

It was Cammie.

•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•

**Y'all were excited for Boston, and he's there now! Not the part I bet you guys wanted, but next chapter…. This one got out of hand… Chapter Four is actually almost done. :) Two weeks or whenever I get chapter five written, whichever comes first…**

**Bye bye for now! But don't forget to leave a review, telling me what you think so far!**


	4. Like Pieces to a Giant Puzzle

**Hello. Here's a new chapter! It's quite long... But I like it though... :)**

**If you talk to me for at least a second, you'll realize that I am a weird, obsessed teenage girl… Not Ally Carter. Therefore I don't own the Gallagher Girls.**

•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•˚•

I never knew whole crowds could vanish in a second. But I guess it happens when the girl you've sworn to protect is the in one place she's in danger. Cammie walked less than a hundred feet from where I stood, and tunnel vision took over. The rest of the world stalled as if moving in slow motion. Time crept by, making it seem like I was frozen. I could only see Cammie. She was right there.

She shouldn't be.

When I had first arrived in Boston, I had no clue what I was doing. But it was finally falling into place. Cammie scanned the crowd, but my gaze was locked on her. She was following procedure, looking for threats. The potential problems were unknown to her, but I could only imagine what he Circle had planned. Because as far as I knew, my suspicions were confirmed. Somehow, the Circle of Cavan had found out Cammie's exact location and an exact way to…. Kidnap her? Interrogate her? _Kill_ her? I didn't like thinking of the possibilities.

Eventually, the crowd around me pushed me from my daze, shoving me into a man from New York, his thick accent jarring me forward.

I watched helplessly as Cammie got into an elevator, heading upward with the security agents. Whose side were they on?

"_Excuse_ you," the New York accent was back. A firm hand was clamped down onto my shoulder. The grip was too tight, and instinct kicked in before common sense. I threw an elbow back, only to have that limb restricted. I spun, ready to throw a knee into the man's family jewels. As my leg came up, he pushed my knee down, laughing. "Zach, calm your jets."

Laughing brown eyes met mine, the man's tanned skin and dark hair immediately recognized. "I thought you weren't going to come down? What changed your mind?" He released my arm and pulled us out of the main flow of people, closer to the wall.

I looked around to see if anyone noticed the quick maneuvers that were out of character for an older man. No one seemed to pay us any attention, so I responded, "Do I look that awful?" I had thought that the teenage version of me was well hidden, but apparently Almahdi saw right through it.

"No, it's actually pretty convincing." He said. With a playful smirk he added, "But I _did_ see you walk into the bathroom and five minutes later an old man walked out. Not a typical sight to see, even in politics." He laughed again as several women walked past, decked out from head to toe in sunflower garb.

"Come on. While you're here, might as well show you what's up." He grabbed my suitcase with all of my stolen possessions and started to push through the crowd. I had no choice but to follow.

After he pushed a set of metal doors open and started marching through a long concrete tunnel, we were in a large arena. The red, white, and blue banners still lined every inch of wall space that I assumed usually held posters advertising whatever band would play the stage that night. Instead of musical instruments and all the crazy lights, a podium was front and center for political business. Almahdi walked away from the doors and toward a staircase towards the back. A single security agent nodded at him and let us up the spiraling stairs.

He was Circle.

Playing the part of Secret Service, he looked forward, his stern look unwavering. As Almahdi walked up the steps with me at his heels, I found myself looking over the railing to the man at the bottom. "So…" I ventured, dragging out the vowel as long as I could to fill the silence.

"Yes?" We had reached the top of the stairs and were walking along a narrow hallway when he had turned to me. "What's up?" He had dropped his New York accent, returning to his normal clipped tone.

"Uh, so, he was on our side?" I looked down the stairwell again.

"Yeah. A lot of people are on our side. It's how we work." He smirked. "This industry is full of double agents. Gotta know who to trust." Almahdi patted my shoulder and gave a little chuckle. "This way, er, _Dr. Thompson_." He winked and continued to move down the hallway. After a minute or two, we reached a line of doors, most likely leading to the skyboxes. He pushed one open and held it wide for me. I entered, only to be faced with a view of the entire stadium. Seats lined every wall and the stage was dominating the north end of the room. A net of balloons stretched across the ceiling. Lights glared onto the stage where a few people were finally pacing the floorboards.

But what was inside the skybox amazed me more. The three walls were lined with computers. I assumed that the only reason the fourth wall wasn't was because it was the window overlooking the stadium. But each and every monitor had faces plastered over them and accompanying video footage. A particular screen caught my eye.

It showed a gray-haired man trying to hit another and then disappearing with him into the throng of bodies. Next, it showed a dark haired teen with a furrowed brow vanish into the crowd. It closed in on a bathroom door, to see the man from earlier walk out and snag an unsuspecting man's coat. The screen switched to show a flow of people on the sidewalks and one boy standing still.

It was me. The camera zoomed until my face was centered and taking up the entire monitor. Green lines ran along the contours of my face then flashed red. _NO MATCH FOUND. NO MATCH FOUND._

"Our facial recognition software doesn't like you." Almahdi went to a laptop that seemed to control everything via several wires. He entered a command on the keyboard. And within seconds, the screen stopped flashing and went black. It started scrolling through all the footage of me. Every few seconds, a black screen with indecipherable code would appear, but would keep going through the slides. "You're a ghost. And we plan on keeping you that way. All video of you has been erased from these monitors, the hotel's cameras, and will be deleted from any device that will sync to the cameras any time soon. So you're still under the radar."

I could only stand and gape at the technology before me. Leaning onto the office chair, I watched the other monitors go through their business. Faces, all different, would be singled out and examined. I was transfixed on the flashing pixels, but it seems so was the other man.

He scanned the screens with a cold, calculating stare. His usual grin was replaced with a straight line of a mouth, void of any emotion. "Why are there so many screens?"

"There are a lot of people to watch."

"Why are we watching them?"

"So they can't stop us."

On the largest screen, the camera followed a blonde girl. I watched in horror as she and a friend strode down the same concrete tunnel I was in just minutes ago. They opened the large doors and entered the arena. Instead of looking at the monitors, I gazed out the window to the floor below. The taller girl gave a flip of her hair and the shorter one laughed. Macey and Cammie.

Cammie sat in the back row from the stage against the wall. She observed the McHenry and Winters families stride across the stage again and again, shake hands, look to the empty seats, and repeat. I craned my neck to see out of the glass wall, but to no avail. From the screens however, I could clearly see her bored expression.

"All teams ready for go? EST 12:05. Roof. I repeat. EST 12:05. Confirmation?" Almahdi spoke into his collar to whoever was waiting on the other end. Pressing a finger to his ear, he nodded at what the other person said. "Confirmed." He turned to see me staring out of the window. "Miss your girlfriend?" My head whipped around, my eyebrows raised. I opened my mouth, but before I could say a word, he continued with a smirk. "I'm only kidding. Anyways, we'll have her in a bit. Let's hope she'll just play nice."

_Have her in a bit? _I felt my chest begin to swell. Breathing became difficult. My heart hammered out of my chest, threatening to jump out and convulse on the floor. I needed air. "I'm going to the restroom."

Almahdi gave me a sideways grin and an upturned eyebrow, as if questioning my sanity. "Alright?" I took a step toward the door as he continued. "It'd be easier to go back to the hotel. Come back in a few minutes, the fun's about to start." I saw the back of his head as he faced the windows, watching the families down below. Watching Cammie.

Down the hall and dashing down the steps, I found myself in the tunnel leading back to the hotel. The concrete walls appeared like they were closing in; every step caused them to get closer. My breaths sped up as my strides did too. Every intake of precious air seemed more and more strained.

They were going to get Cammie.

_No_.

They were going to _try_ to get Cammie. They wouldn't succeed. Not as long as I had any say in it.

I forced myself to breathe, to take in my surroundings. I had just exited the tunnel and was in the carpeted hallway of the hotel, its tall ceilings just as suffocating. I could hear the busy foyer and its occupants, but just barely. Voices were approaching, and I didn't want to deal with unsuspecting spectators at the moment. I looked to the metal doors that I had just come from and back to the fancy décor of the hotel. I stepped further down the hallway before opening a wooden door and closing myself into the small room, taking my chances with whatever lay on the other side.

The janitorial closet smelled of lemon cleaner and dirty water. I crouched against the door and held my head in my hands. _Breathe, Zach, breathe_. _One. Two/. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Inhale, exhale._ I looked up.

The closet was crammed with all sorts of supplies- from rubber gloves to mops to paper towels and much more. My mind was racing with possibilities of how the Circle would get to Cammie. And if there was anything I could do to prevent it. I couldn't strangle Almahdi with the stretchy gloves or hit him repeatedly with a broom (well, I could, but it wouldn't help Cammie).

I fingered the bottle of Windex, and contemplated spraying it in Almahdi's eyes, potentially blinding him. But I doubted that he was part of the grab team. He was a watcher, at least for this event. I held my face in my palms, the hard wooden door supporting my spine for the several silent minutes I spent breathing in the fumes. Time was running out- again. Why did it seem as if my life was just one fuse after another, burning down to the nub and blowing up in my face?

I put the purple bottle back down and stood. I straightened my bow tie and squared my shoulders. Convincing myself to suck it up, I placed my hand on the doorknob. _Ready_? Go.

I quickly exited the room again, realizing a few other strangers had wandered into the hall. None of them batted an eye at me, but as soon as the metal doors opened again, any eyes that may have noticed me were misdirected.

Macey McHenry burst through the steel doors, hair blowing behind her. She was talking to Cammie, who was wearing a shy smile. I stepped down the hall, avoiding the single security agent's eyes. When I got close enough, I took a wide sidestep and rammed into Cammie. Well, I could've been gentler. But, for that one second, I held her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "_Excuse me, miss."_ It rolled off my tongue in an _alright _southern accent. But after I let go, the smell of her vanilla perfume seemed to travel with me, even after she turned the corner.

She was real. She was here. She was in danger.

The heavy doors slammed behind me, but I was already sprinting towards the back of the large room. The stairs were now void of security, and I ran back to the glass room. I counted the doors as I ran down the soft carpet, hesitating before opening Almahdi's door. I could run right now and grab Cammie- take her away to safety. I could go stop this right now, albeit my certain doom. But that one action would expose everything. _What would Solomon do?_ He was the one that told me to become part of the Circle and that my stupid feelings could ruin everything. My actions could land me six feet in the dirt. I took my hand away from the cool metal of the handle, retracing a few of my steps. Whose safety was more important? **"**_Feelings aren't part of this game." _His words from long ago came back to me. I took a deep breath and stretched my arm out. My hands were threatening to shake as I reached for the knob one last time. It turned flawlessly, and once again I was faced with the screens surrounding me.

The man looked over his shoulder long enough to tell me, "It's only a few minutes until we're on." He was still watching the screens. And it was still all the same people in the lobby, the same hallways filled with cleaning staff, and the same few elevators. But now Cammie was in one of those elevators. She laughed as Macey said something to the Winters boy. "Almost there, Zach. You get to watch the pros at such a tender age. You're lucky." He laughed and pressed a few buttons. "It's too bad we won't have any audio form the roof, but we'll still be able to see all the action." Suddenly all the screens were switched to show the rooftop and brilliant blue sky. Multiple screens were showing parts of the image, like pieces to a giant puzzle.

"That's impressive." I remarked, carefully gauging his reaction.

"Not really. I'm hoping these monitors will last long enough. All stolen from all around and hooked up to the hotel and stadium's security systems." As if to prove his point, a center screen's image wavered for a second. "Merely temporary."

After its momentary breakdown, it reverted to the image of the roof, two metal doors opening to reveal three teenagers. Their mouths were moving, but no sound came from the screens.

"Alpha team, go. Bravo team standing by and Charlie ready." Pressing on a few keys, Almahdi brought the smaller screen into focus, projecting it across several. I felt my chest tighten, finally realizing that it was happening _now._

"Almahdi, what's happening?" My voice clawed its way out of my throat, hardly above a whisper.

"Watch." He pointed to the screen, where my Gallagher Girl had followed her dark-haired friend onto the roof. The three teens stepped to the edge, gaping over the large city view. I leaned onto the chair in front of me, gripping the back as tightly as I could. It was horrifying watching Cammie be out of my reach and in the Circle's. They stepped away from the edge and seemed to start to argue about some sheet of paper.

That's when I noticed the small black object in the sky. It was slowly getting bigger, closer. And they were still engrossed in their paper. I wanted to scream, to shout, and to call for help, but my lungs constricted, hardly allowing any air to pass, let alone words.

"Your mother has been planning this exact moment for weeks now. Let's hope your girl is cooperative." As he spoke, Cammie looked up to see the incoming aircraft. She seemed to call out something as a rope dropped and a hatch opened. Cammie ran for the door and grasped for the handles. She pulled, leaning all her weight away from the door. But her efforts were in vain. It stayed shut. "Good, John got up there in time."

_A lot of people are on our side…_ Still stunned into silence, Almahdi's words echoed around in my head. At every turn, there was someone waiting for the opportunity to get something. And now, they wanted Cammie.

Two men and a woman, who I assumed to be my mother, slid down the rope and landed squarely on the roof. Careful, measured steps inched them closer to Cammie. Her back was pressed against Macey's, and the little nerd boy was shaking behind them.

I could see Macey's hands quivering on the video feed, but mine were clamped around the edge of the office chair, my knuckles quickly turning white. My heart pounded and my breathing started to become shallow. The before moments of a fight were when I tended to psych myself out, getting nervous. And watching Cammie's was no better.

The Circle was surrounding them. They were slowly getting closer. As soon as they had gotten near enough, the man to the left of my mother threw his arm at Cammie, but she blocked it. As quickly as possible, Cammie swung her leg out and knocked the man's knees out from under him. She was engaged in the fight that I had to stand and watch, powerless. The second of her distraction, all energy thrown into her kick, meant that the cohort had an open shot. He took the punch, and Cammie crumpled to the ground, holding her side. After Cammie took an instant to recover from the blow, she looked up just in time to barely avoid a jab to the skull. The Circle wasn't rushing. They weren't in a hurry. They knew she had these skills, and they knew better than to take a Gallagher Girl lightly.

"Maleficent, get this done _quickly, _we don't need to waste time." Almahdi spat through the comms. I said nothing. I couldn't tell if I wanted it to slow down, giving Cammie more time, or speed up and get it over with. With the Circle's experience and Cammie's capabilities, I didn't know who would turn out successful. Hopefully it'd be Cammie, because hell would freeze over before I sided with my mother.

As Cammie stepped further away from her attackers, she reached for the blondish boy behind her. She grasped his wrists and pulled him towards the edge. Merely a few feet from a deadly drop, they were battling a much more dangerous situation. One of the men grabbed Cammie's elbow from behind, and she whipped around. Before she could properly react, the Winters kid's fist jutted out and collided with the attacker's neck. He had guts; that's for sure. And he was going to need them.

Cammie had just pushed him onto a narrow platform, dangling him over the edge of the building. She slammed a button, and the boy and the metal platform disappeared from view. While she looked over the edge, to where she had just dropped the most important teenager in America, Macey was being bombarded by the men. They swung fists and legs, eventually capturing her arm. As his hand came up, I cringed. I knew what was happening. His elbow came down, cleanly breaking her arm. I was glad I couldn't hear the sickening snap that surely came of it.

Cammie pivoted to see Macey on the ground, clutching her arm tightly. She sprinted to her friend, narrowly avoiding my mother's grasp. As Cammie reached Macey, my mother extended a finger in her direction. The screen that showed the close up of my mother's face was turning slightly frazzled, but I could clearly make out what my mother had said. "_Get her._"

Cammie dropped to the ground beside her friend and began kicking a vent on the wall. She was trying to get back inside. The men were getting closer and closer until Cammie's kicks finally demolished the metal grate. She grabbed the remnants and threw it at the advancing enemies. One of them collapsed to the ground after it impacted his skull.

"Goddammit." Almahdi pierced the silence as he glared at the screen. "Amateurs."

Back on the screens, some becoming more and more filled with static, Cammie had pushed Macey through the small opening. She had found a small chance of success. Cammie's ankles had just gone through the vent when my mother's hand clamped down on her shoulder. I saw the muscles in my mother's arm clench as Cammie's nails dragged along her skin, red lines quickly appearing. That wouldn't please my mother, nor would the pin that Cammie had ripped from her blouse and jammed into the back of her hand. The horrid woman I called my mother pulled away from Cammie and gave her the perfect opportunity to get through the small gap.

There was a short lag on the monitors, their screens now becoming darker and slower. Every once in a while they would freeze or go to black, only to continue the feed after a few seconds. They were changing scenes. From the vivid outdoors now to the dark top floor of the hotel, the cameras were having a difficult time adjusting. The shadows showed Cammie and Macey darting in between large machinery. Sparks were coming from something- the elevator? And Cammie pounded against the doors. She turned to see my mother and company slowly approaching. They were taking their sweet time.

Cammie reached to the side, grabbing a cart of sorts. It either held cleaning supplies or tools- not that it mattered. It already rolled down the aisle and was thrown to the side by the smaller of the men. Quick thinking on Cammie's part, but useless nonetheless. The Circle was slowly stepping closer, cornering the girls. Macey raised her finger to point at something, and before I could even identify what she was pointing at, Cammie had lunged. She pushed Macey through the small hole in the wall before quickly following.

The screens flickered, and I waited for them to cut to the other side of the wall. Gray, scratchy static covered each monitor for a few seconds. Then everything was black.

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**I have dubbed Catherine's codename "Maleficent". Boom.**

**Here are some shout outs to some pretty spectacular people (and if you're not here, you're still pretty awesome for reading, too ;)**

**Smirk and Walk Away, Wendy Pierce (spell check didn't notice I spelled "pierce" wrong in the A/N last time! Sorry! DX), Q (Guest), jgpanda14 (x3), xXCandyygirlXx, and crazyshay77 (x2)!**

**So, I'm thinking the next update will be the Wednesday after next... (March 19th?) But its Spring Break then, so idk...**

**Reviews are much appreciated. VERY LOVE. SUCH FEEDBACK. WOW.**


	5. A Different Option?

**Sorry for the (day) late update, but I actually left the house over spring break! I went to the Mall of America with the family and guess what I bought: BOOKS! A testament to my true nerdiness: The biggest mall in the country, and I **_**only**_** bought books…**

**And I totally forgot to thank Irish Gallagher Girl and crazyshay77 for helping out with the last chapter; I was too caught up in getting an exact word count. XD Thanks! And then crazyshay77 read this chapter too. SO THANKS AGAIN FOR BEING LOTS OF HELP! READ THEIR STORIES!**

**On with my (Zach's?) story- but first: I am not the owner of the Gallagher Girls or any other recognizable thing-a-ma-bobs.**

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Stunned silence ensued. The only noises were the faint traces of our breathing. The whirring of the monitors had stopped along with the video feed. Flickering above us, the lights slowly tried to regain power. The only illumination in the small room came from the stadium on the other side of the tinted glass.

"What just happened?" I croaked. One minute Cammie was jumping through the wall, the next- there was nothing.

"Alpha team? Do you read?" Almahdi hesitated and looked to the ceiling as the fluorescents slowly blinked back on. Grumbling and mumbling obscenities, he ripped the headset from behind his ear. He threw it down onto the table with the laptop and turned to me. "The monitors shorted out the skyboxes. It's likely that none of them have power. It's coming back quickly though." He was right. The air conditioner started humming again, but he didn't stop talking. "The girl got away."

"She did?" I tried my hardest to hide my relief, and it seemed to work. Almahdi just kept mumbling strings of expletives in his native language.

"Fell right through our fingers. _Goddammit_." He slammed the laptop lid and picked it up. Slipping it into a bag, he told me, "We need to go. Someone called the police, I guarantee it. I know for sure hotel security is already cleaning up the mess, but we have to bolt before the big guns get here."

He grabbed my stolen suitcase and shoved it onto my arms. I clutched it against my chest as Almahdi walked down the walls, yanking wires from their slots. He then reached into his bag and pulled out a box of wipes. Tossing it to me, he said "Clear the prints. Quick." I dropped the black briefcase by the door and ran a small rag over every surface as he continued to do the same on the opposite side of the room. I kept my eyes glued to the screens, waiting to see if Cammie would show up once again, but the screens stayed dark. Looking over, I saw Almahdi glance up at the clock. He threw down the wipes and said, "Good enough. Come on. Let's get out of here!" He pulled open the door and hit the switch, killing the lights that had just fully regained their luminosity.

His quick steps put him farther down the hall than my shorter strides did. Almahdi stopped at the top of the stairs and waited a few seconds for me to catch up. When I did, he actually took hold of my sleeve and started to drag me down the stairs. Trying my best not to trip down the steps, I followed as quickly as possible. I could already hear the crowd of people in the lobby and the sirens outside as he pulled me through the thick steel doors. He only let go of _"_Dr. Thompson's_"_ sleeve once we had to maneuver through the chaotic bodies. The only thing that was worse than pushing through the mob was trying to get out. We had to shove past all the other escapees, but the Secret Service was trying to stop everybody for examination. You know- to make sure they're not terrorists or anything like that.

But luckily we made it to the sidewalks with the other stragglers. Starting to head down the street, we were still dodging people. Under his breath, Almahdi murmured, "We're almost there. Just stay quiet and attract no attention." Black and white cars sat along the curb, in the middle of the street, and lined the block. Their lights flashed brightly and I wondered if we'd get caught. It seemed to be going well so far, but you never knew. We passed the police on the sidewalk and I continued to blindly follow the man to wherever he was leading me, holding my breath, waiting for danger.

We continued to half walk/half jog down the sidewalk, and I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder every few seconds to see if we were being tailed. It was clear. As we entered a different parking garage, there were still no police that had noticed our fleeing from the scene. Almahdi opened the glass door that led to the stairs and started ascending quickly. I followed five or six steps on his heels. We had gotten to the third level and he finally went back into the large expanse filled with vehicles. The door swung closed behind him, but I caught it before it slammed. He slowly walked up the ramp, scanning the cars while digging through his bag.

I followed over the pavement, trying to match his hasty strides. The dusty air and faint trace of exhaust of the parking garage caused me to cough. Almahdi turned to look at me, as if he was surprised to see that I was still following. Quickly, he said, "We have a rendezvous with your mother in New Hampshire."

I stopped in my tracks. _Oh_. I was following him to my mother. Slowly starting to catch up to him, I realized it wasn't like I could ditch now. He'd get suspicious. So, as he started to climb the sloped surface, I asked, "How are we getting there?" I thought back to the stolen car in a different parking garage several blocks in the other direction. The car that someone wouldn't be seeing for a while.

He stopped suddenly and fished around in his bag, pulling out a set of keys. He tapped a button, and an SUV's lights came on at the top of the ramp. "We have a ride."

Almahdi got into the driver's seat and started the ignition as I walked around to the passenger's side. I wasn't even buckled when he had backed out of his space and down the ramp. He maneuvered the SUV around and around until we were at street level. He pulled out into traffic and grumbled, "Take off the stupid wig already." Immediately, my hand reached to my scalp and tore away the white hair. I also took the time to rip the 'stache and brows off. They pulled at my skin, most likely leaving red marks. I rubbed my skin, wincing at the feeling the disguise left behind. I tugged at my bow tie, and the man beside me noticed. "When we're a ways off, I'll stop and you can change back to your normal clothes."

I mumbled my thanks as I undid the top buttons of my shirt. The SUV rumbled through traffic, the red, white, and blue décor joined with the similar lights of the emergency vehicles. Every car we passed made me stare straight ahead, as if my glance alone would catch their attention and gain suspicion.

I swallowed my fear of getting caught as we weaved our way through traffic. The uneasiness in my gut didn't go away even as the police cars disappeared from sight. The ride was going to be terribly long as it is, but Almahdi's driving habits didn't make it any easier. And as we entered the traffic of the highway, I realized that experiencing road rage from an trained killer was quite terrifying. Every honk of the horn, every second of tailgating, and every grumbled expletive seemed to irritate himself the more he continued to do so. The uncharacteristic behaviors were throwing me off. They might've been perfectly normal, but I really hadn't caught him in a "bad mood" so far. Almahdi's brow was furrowed in concentration, and his grip on the wheel was tense.

The large vehicle lurched forward the few feet that the traffic had moved along the highway. The constant honks and screeches on the road were giving me a headache, so I stayed silent. Almahdi didn't seem to mind the lack of conversation, being caught up in traffic and all.

I quietly reached back for my suitcase and opened it in my lap. I took off the starched dress shirt and tucked it away. I slipped on the hoodie that I had originally worn, feeling much more comfortable. I would deal with the slacks and Oxfords later. Putting the case down at my feet, I made myself comfortable in the stiff seat. I drew my hood around my head and closed my eyes. My thoughts drifted from the chaotic highway to the rooftop back in Boston. Cammie's every move was on replay. Ever kick, every punch, every step. And then the Circle's.

They had finally decided that they were done waiting for me. They were done waiting for Cammie. They were working on their own agenda as of now. And that's what frightened me the most. The scene from earlier today was still playing through my mind, but slowly becoming fuzzier with ever second. I felt my breathing even and my eyelids become heavy. Within minutes, I was lulled into a dreamless sleep.

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The brakes were applied suddenly. I felt my head come forward and then slam back on the seat. I groaned. That hurt like hell.

I slowly opened my eyes. I reached up to rub my neck as Almahdi looked over to me. "Sorry about that. I'm _trying_ to pull off the god-awful highway so we can fill up on gas." I loosened my seat belt; it had tightened from the jolt. "Do you have to go to the bathroom?"

"Uh, sure. How long was I asleep?" I stretched as far as I could in the small space, taking in the scenery at the same time. It was just a normal town we were pulling off into, nothing special.

"Only an hour or so." Almahdi said as he finally got onto the exit despite the speeding drivers surrounding us. We were now driving on the town's main street. I was craning my neck, looking for any sign of the town's name or our location. There was nothing. Nevertheless, we turned into the parking lot of a local gas station. He dug around in his pocket, withdrawing several crumpled bills. "Here. Go buy a sandwich or something if you're hungry. I'm gonna fill up on gas. Clean out the garbage from the bag while you're in there." Almahdi had swapped the stolen briefcase for a spare backpack. I grabbed the bag as he unlocked the door and let me out. He pulled up to the pump as I slowly walked to the small building.

I was still tired from my rest, but the cashier didn't seem to notice. "Good afternoon, son. How may I help you?" The woman smiled, being friendly. I scanned the shelves of the store then grabbed a bag of chips and a water bottle. Between the money that Almahdi had given me and the money I had nabbed back in Boston, I had almost fifty dollars. I placed a five on the counter as she rung up my purchase. She was yabbing about discounts and then how nice the weather was and whatever small talk she could come up with while I perused the spinning rack of postcards. None of them were extraordinary, just pictures of forests and mountains and birds. Boring.

But there was one that caught my eye. There was a small card, no larger than the others. Not that much more spectacular, but it reminded me of Cammie instantly. The ruby slippers from the Wizard of Oz were surrounded by pictures from the movie. I snatched it and placed it by the rest of my purchase. "This, too. Please."

The woman laughed. "My daughter picked those out. She liked 'the sparkly shoes' and 'the cute lion'. Who's it for? Surely, it's not a memento from our little town?" She laughed and scanned it. As she handed me the change, I responded.

"Um, it's for a girl I met at the Smithsonian." I couldn't really call Cammie my "girlfriend" yet. And I wasn't in the mood for explaining our weird, twisted relationship to a stranger, if there even was a relationship to be explained.

"Well, that's sweet of you. Anything else I can help you with?" I put everything into the front pocket of my backpack and returned it to my shoulder. I glanced around the gas station. "Where are your bathrooms?"

She reached behind her and grabbed a key. "Outside and around to the right."

"Thanks." I exited, walking along the sidewalk flanking the little building. When I went into the bathroom and did my business, I also splashed cold water on my face. It did little to wake me up, but it washed some of the leftover grime the disguise had left off my features. I also took the time to change back into my jeans and sneakers, stowing the other clothes in my bag. Pushing open the heavy door, I saw Almahdi standing by the pumps, holding a phone to his ear and making wide gestures. He was angry at whatever the other person was saying. I leaned back against the door and thought about our destination. Did I really want to go to see my _mother_ with him? Meeting up with her was bad enough, but facing yet another gathering of dangerous people? But did I have a different option?

Maybe. About a block away, a bus sat rumbling at the corner. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing if the man was still distracted. He was.

I hooked the bathroom key onto the door handle, not wanting to go back in and waste time. While Almahdi was still vigorously narrating his phone call, I dashed across the street, dodging the cars. After the traffic blocked him from my sight, I slowed my pace. When I reached the intersection, I stopped at the large bus's open doors.

I looked in to see an old man sitting in the driver's seat. "Are you going north?" The man gave a brisk nod, without looking away from his newspaper. I don't think I'd get away with stowing away, and I had plenty of money, so I thought it'd be better not to risk getting in trouble and to just get a ride the fair way. "Where could I buy a ticket?" I leaned on the frame of the door, holding onto the inside railing.

In perfect monotone, as if reciting a script, he said, "Five dollars will get you to the next town over. Other tickets can be purchased in the bank." He nodded his head to the building he was parked beside. I thanked him and ambled up the walk leading to the bank. The closest the bus would get to Belmont was Augusta, so I bought a ticket as far as there. The teller handed me the receipt and kept her bored expression, not even batting an eye. Across the street, I saw Almahdi exit the gas station and look around to the side of the building. He reached for the handle to the bathroom, and I assumed that he grabbed the key. He then made a full turn before angrily marching to his SUV. I took the opportunity and dashed down to the bus. I climbed the steps and placed the ticket into the little lockbox, the driver still reading his paper.

When I looked down the aisle, I realized that there were a lot of people on board. I staggered down the middle, dodging legs and bags scattered on the floor. I was looking for an open seat when the driver's voice came over the speakers. "It is three o'clock on this gorgeous afternoon and we are headed north through the beauty that is Maine. We will be departing now." I could barely hear him over the ruckus, but I know that he didn't sound too enthusiastic.

About three seats forward, there was a girl sitting alone. She saw me scanning the seats and patted the one next to her. She smiled. I forced one in return and sat just as the bus's engine revved. It started driving down the road and she began to speak.

"Hi. I'm Cassidy." She turned sideways in her seat, facing me. Tilting her head to the side, she batted her eyelashes. Ugh. Stage one of flirting.

"Zach." I gave a little nod and faced forward, but she was _not _leaving me alone.

"Where are you headed?" She twirled a golden strand of hair around her fingers.

"Augusta." I sighed, hoping that my one-word answers would get her to stop talking.

"Oh, I'm getting off before that. We'll still be together for a bit, so why not get to know each other?" How about no? I did not want to get to stage two of flirting: _small talk_.

"I'm actually pretty tired. And I have a headache." Neither of those were lies, actually. I was still internally sorting out what happened to Cammie, and thinking about it made the throbbing in my skull worse.

"Oh, sorry then." A beat of silence. "What's the occasion for Augusta?"

I stopped myself from groaning out loud. "Family." Avoiding them, specifically. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. I sighed as she asked another question. And another. I gave her a few short answers before starting to ignore her altogether. I clenched my arms around my bag and tried to filter her voice from my thoughts. I only wanted one girl on my mind, and it wasn't giggly, bubbly Cassidy. Cammie was somewhere, hurt, and I could do nothing about it.

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"Hey, kid. Get off my bus."

I slowly opened an eye. It was really bright. "Did you hear me? Get off my goddamn bus!" A rough hand jostled my shoulder and by muscle memory, I shot into a defensive standing position. "That's better. Now leave." Still a bit drained from the sleep I had apparently fallen into, my bag was thrust into my arms. "This is your stop, and I'm not giving anyone a free ride anywhere." I rubbed my eyes as the big man maneuvered me down the aisle. Most of the other people had gotten off, and Cassidy was long gone.

I stumbled down the stairs and the double doors swooshed close behind me. Within an instant, the bus was gone. I was left alone on the sidewalk. Yawning, I hooked the straps of my backpack over my shoulders and looked around. Augusta. Not a particularly interesting place. Just another city. I stretched my arms high above my head and twisted, hearing my back give a satisfying pop.

Now comes the fun part: looking for a different mean of transportation. I had to start somewhere, so set my sights eastward. And I started walking. And I kept walking. I walked and walked some more until I was out of the most urban parts of the city. Even after several minutes of travelling by foot, I hadn't seen a single bus stop that went further east. Earlier, my options were to go with Almahdi and face my mother post-failure or to travel a good 150 miles by myself. And I had gone with the latter.

I stopped and stretched, thanking myself for getting in two naps. My calves were already starting to tighten, but I wasn't a stranger to excessive exercise. Even so, I was just about fed up with walking. It took me about half an hour with no luck of finding any better means of transport before I resorted to hitchhiking. That's right- I stood on the side of the highway and stuck up both of my thumbs. I continued to slowly walk down the edge of the highway as more and more vehicles zipped by.

After maybe ten minutes, a large semi flashed its lights and slowed to a stop on the shoulder of the road. The door was pushed open and I saw a middle-aged man gesture to me. "Where're you headed, kid?"

"How far east are you going?" I asked as he moved some boxes from the passenger side. Before entering the vehicle, I glanced at the large trailer it was hauling. _Johnson & Jones Furniture._

"I have an order along the coast, so wherever you need to go, I'll probably pass by sooner or later." I stepped up the large step and buckled my seat. From the corner of my eye, I saw the man sizing me up. He was probably deciding whether he could take me in a fight, should the need arise. He was a large man, with some muscle. The scruff on his neck and a tattered ball cap made it seem as if he spent a lot of time on the road. I said thanks as he pulled back onto the road. "No problem. I like to give people lifts. If they need to go somewhere, then I'll usually help." He glanced to the bag I had placed at my seat. "For safety reasons, can you show me what's in the bag?"

"Yeah, sure." The wig and other aspects of my cover were in the very bottom, so I hoped that I wouldn't need to explain those. But I pulled out the clothes, trying to hide the fact that they were pieces to a very expensive suit, and then the money and the food.

"You're good, kid." The man nodded as I zipped my bag closed. "Just making sure you don't have any weapons. One boy I picked up had a pocket knife in his shoe. That's how I got this nasty scar." He pointed to his chin and laughed. "But I broke his knife _and_ his nose, so it's all good." I nodded and stayed quiet. It was natural for him to try and show authority, but I didn't plan on making a scene. I wanted to get back to school as soon as possible. It was that or nowhere.

"What's your name? I don't feel like calling you 'kid' for the entirety of the trip." He pressed a few buttons on the radio until some random heavy metal rock song came out of his speakers.

"Zach." I mumbled. And that's all I said. For the next few minutes, we sat in silence (you know, besides the drums and loud bass coming from the radio). But after the song was over, all the advertisements started rambling on about whatever product that was being exploited. I zoned out as he switched it to the news. My gaze focused outside on the passing mountains. We were going farther and farther east, where I would soon enough be back at school. Now there were fewer and fewer cars passing us, and we were isolated on the road.

"What did they say?" My attention switched completely to the radio. I thought I heard something, I thought- "Today in Boston, at approximately 12:10, there was an attack on the roof of the La Roux hotel uptown. The attack seemed to target the presidential candidate's son and his running partner's daughter. Macey McHenry's friend was also present at the time of the attack."

"_Hmm_. America needs to get its stuff straight. No security?" The burly man made a quiet _tsking_ noise as he turned up the volume. I kept my mouth shut from telling him how there was plenty of security, it's just that they were all traitors and liars and- "Its reported that Preston Winters has no remarkable injuries, but McHenry suffers from a broken arm and her friend is being treated for a concussion. All three are in safe locations currently. As of now, security believes this was a terror attack, but any specific groups have yet to come forward. We will be following up on this story as more news progresses. Now to Al for the weather."

"It's good that those kids are safe." The driver looked to me as I sat back in my seat. She's safe. Cammie's safe. I smiled a small smile. "Yeah. That's good."

"Hopefully something won't happen like that again." _Again_. The stupid man wiped the grin from my face with that single word. The Circle wouldn't give up. They never would.

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**THIS WAS SO LONG. GEEZ. I think I deserve a reward for stretching out the same day for FOUR chapters now. :P It's not too boring or redundant, is it?**

**Awesome shout outs for some awesome people!**

**xXCandyygirlXx, crazyshay77, Smirk and Walk Away, Wendy Pierce, Sam (guest), hannahslye, and jgpanda14! Thanks again for your oodles of support! I really appreciate all the kind words! :)**

**A review for me, s'il vous plait? Por favor?**


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